It had been six months since "Diagnosis Day," as I called it in my head. Six months since I convinced two worried mothers that the solution to systemic discrimination was morning cardio.
The fresh morning air hit my face as my feet pounded the pavement of the neighborhood park. Breathe in, breathe out. Steady rhythm.
In my previous life, I was... normal. Painfully normal. If I tried to run, my spleen would hurt after three minutes. If I tried a cartwheel, I'd probably end up with a sprained neck. My reflexes were average: I'd watch a glass fall, and my brain would say "oops" two seconds after it shattered on the floor.
But this body... this body was absurd.
It was like going from driving an old family sedan with misaligned steering to piloting a Formula 1 car fresh out of the factory.
I hopped over an exposed tree root without breaking stride, landing with a feline smoothness that shouldn't be possible for a four-year-old. It wasn't just the Explosion Quirk; it was Katsuki Bakugo's baseline biology. His muscle fibers, his sense of balance, his hand-eye coordination... everything was tuned to an elite level by default.
I understood why the original Bakugo was so arrogant. When the physical world obeys your every whim without effort, it's easy to believe you're a god. My brain sent a command, and the body executed it with pinpoint precision—no lag, no clumsiness.
It was intoxicating. And dangerous.
"Wait...! Wait, please!"
Inko Midoriya's gasping voice snapped me out of my biological analysis.
I braked, spinning on my heels with a fluid motion. Behind me, the "Future Hero Defense Squad" (name pending) was in various states of physical decay.
Izuku was running with a face as red as a tomato, his little arms pumping exaggeratedly, but with fierce determination in his eyes. Behind him, my mother, Mitsuki, jogged with insulting ease, shouting encouragement (or threats; with her, the line was blurry). And at the very back, poor Auntie Inko looked ready to pass out, but she kept moving her legs.
"Come on, Inko!" my mother shouted, slapping her on the back hard enough to almost send her to the ground. "If the brats can do it, so can we! Burn off that katsudon fat!"
"M-Mitsuki, have mercy!" Inko moaned.
I smirked. At first, Inko wanted the kids to train alone, but I subtly reminded her that heroes need healthy role models. Now, she was losing weight and gaining stamina, even if she complained every step of the way.
Izuku caught up to me, resting his hands on his knees and breathing like an old steam engine.
"Did I... did I catch up... Kacchan?" he asked between gasps.
"Almost, nerd," I said, handing him my water bottle. I didn't tell him I had been running at 40% capacity. There was no point in demoralizing him.
As he drank, I began stretching my legs. I lifted one leg high above my head, maintaining perfect balance on the other. I was starting to experiment. The original Bakugo used his hands for everything: attack, mobility, defense. That generated brutal tension on the shoulders and wrists (the recoil from explosions is no joke).
But what if I used my legs? What if I moved like a rocket-propelled breakdancer? The Shinra Kusakabe style. For that, I needed a low center of gravity and a core of steel. And flexibility. Lots of flexibility.
"Wow! You're super flexible, Kacchan!" Izuku exclaimed, now recovered, trying to imitate me and falling on his butt in the grass.
I laughed, offering him a hand to pull him up. "It's balance, Izu. You have to tighten your tummy."
"Alright, break's over!" Mitsuki announced, arriving at our side without even breaking a sweat. "Let's play Tag! Whoever gets touched by Katsuki has to do ten frog jumps!"
"Eh?!" Izuku squeaked. "But Kacchan is too fast!"
"Then run faster, Deku!" I yelled, giving him a three-second head start before shooting off after him.
Izuku squealed, a mix of terror and genuine laughter, and took off running through the park.
We weren't doing military push-ups. We weren't punching sandbags. We were four-year-olds playing in the park. To the untrained eye, we were just having fun. But I knew the truth. I was working on my directional changes and explosive speed. Izuku was working on his cardiovascular endurance and learning how to flee.
I watched him laugh out loud as he dodged a tree, with Inko cheering him on from a nearby bench where she had happily collapsed.
Enjoy it, Izuku, I thought, slowing down on purpose to almost catch him and missing by a hair, making him scream with excitement. Enjoy having lungs that burn from running and not from smoke. Enjoy your legs hurting from play and not from broken bones.
There would be time to break our knuckles learning Muay Thai or Krav Maga in a couple of years. For now, the goal was to build the engine before putting on the tank armor.
"Gotcha!" I yelled, tagging his shoulder.
"Nooo!" he laughed, throwing himself dramatically onto the ground.
Yeah. This was okay. I could protect this a little longer.